


Close Encounters

by ThatSlyProcyon



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Flashbacks, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Past Torture, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Rocket Raccoon-centric, Tags May Change, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-05-20 18:38:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14899850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatSlyProcyon/pseuds/ThatSlyProcyon
Summary: In the aftermath of a lost battle, Rocket builds bridges with the Avengers. (Spoilers ahead for Infinity War. You have been warned.)





	1. The Asgardian

**Author's Note:**

> Heyas, AO3, ThatSlyProcyon here! This is my first time posting to AO3; this is a work that I started about a week and a half ago to get over my emotions from Infinity War.
> 
> There are going to be spoilers ahead for Avengers: Infinity War, This'll be a mostly Rocket-focused story because I couldn't deal with the fact that he's stuck on Wakanda now; each chapter at first will cover his interactions with a different survivor. We start with Thor, the Asgardian.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

 

**1\. The Asgardian**

_"Dad?"_

_"…No. No, no,_ no… _"_

Rocket didn't know how long he sat there, staring at the dust in his claws as if he could somehow  _will_  the universe to  _give him back._  He cried at first, on and off for about thirty minutes and then it was just dry sobs as one by one the Terrans around him dispersed. The captain and the assassin were the first to leave, carrying the lifeless husk of their android companion back to the city. The men in the armoured suits—a soldier, a scientist—left as well, to help with damage control efforts as well as start to clean up what remained of the Outrider threat. The two Wakandans—a bodyguard, a chief—rushed back to the palace not long after, to help their people coordinate a response.

In the end it was just the pirate-angel, the Asgardian, who remained at his side as the twilight turned to nightfall. Rocket drew his legs up to his chest and gripped his hands together, glancing over to Thor. The god of thunder was quiet, with an expression on his face that Rocket knew all too well.

Guilt.

"Thor. It…it's not your fault. Stop making th-that stupid face."

"How can it not be, Rabbit?"

" _You_ ain't the purple douchebag who snapped his fingers, are you?"

Thor bit his lip, looking towards where Stormbreaker fell on the ground after the Mad Titan departed, the blood which stained his blade the only evidence that Thanos had been there.

"I may as well have. Did you not see it, Rabbit? I wanted to watch him suffer. In my…in my anger, I buried my axe into his chest when I should have sundered his head from his body. I could have removed the Mad Titan's arm, prevented him from using the Gauntlet's power. I thought the heart would be enough of a target. I was wrong. And now half of all life is just…"

He gestured to the dust that remained on Rocket's claws, seemingly not realising whose it was. Rocket forced back a sob as he remembered that it wasn't just Thor that hadn't been there until the very end. He had been so engrossed in facing the Outriders that it wasn't until he saw Thor streak towards the forest that he ran towards the treeline, running into—.

"…Rabbit? Wh-where is Tree?"

 _"'Dad',_ he said… _"_

"I-I'm sorry?"

"He…he called me 'Dad' at the end, Thor."

Thor closed his eyes and lowered his head. "I…That truly grieves me to hear. He was a noble companion. As you have been. I hope that you can…well, forgive me for my failure."

The raccoon flashed his teeth at the Asgardian and scowled. "Well I ain't about to forgive you Thor, 'cause your pretty pirate-angel god-man ass ain't done nothin' to me, you understand? It's Thanos that'll have to answer for what he did, and he will! He…he will. We're gonna make sure of that."

His voice cracked with uncertainty as he finished, and Thor let out a long sigh. The god was silent for a moment afterwards, before standing and looking back towards the battlefield, the moon casting its serene light through the trees. It looked so peaceful, even after what very well seemed like the losing battle of a war where everything was at stake.

Then looking down at his unlikely companion, the Asgardian straightened and went back to where Stormbreaker lay. He bent down to retrieve it, only for Rocket to scurry in front of him. The raccoonoid hesitated, before placing his claws on the handle—on what remained of his friend,  _his kid_. Thor bowed his head as he struggled to lift it, dragging the axe a few feet before dropping it and jerking his claws back as though burned.

"…It is as I told you and the rest of the Morons. Mortals are not meant to wield such weapons."

"Then  _help me_ , Thor. It's…it's all I got left of him…"

The God of Thunder once more knelt down to Rocket's level, a genuine smile flashing upon his face for the first time since they met as he too placed a hand upon his weapon.

"Together, then, Rabb—"

"-Okay, hold up, Thor. Before we go, I just wanted to clear something up. The name's Rocket. Of course, uh…you can keep calling me Rabbit if you want. It does…have a sort of ring to it, you know?"

Thor nodded, smile widening slightly.

"Rocket. I like the sound of that. Shall we go now?"

That was how the man once known to the world as Captain America greeted the two when they arrived at the palace the next morning: the raccoon from space gripping the handle of Stormbreaker tightly, the God of Thunder supporting the head of the axe, seemingly bearing most of the weight.

Steve Rogers couldn't help but smile as he approached the two. He was reminded of his conversation with Stark, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

_"We'll lose."_

_"Then we'll do that together, too."_

He clapped a hand on the Asgardian's shoulder, and the three of them walked back up the stairs of the palace to an empty room. It was a new day, and with it, a new determination flared through Rogers.

They needed to mourn.

They needed to rebuild.

They needed to avenge their own.

And they would do it together.

 


	2. The Captain: Encounter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trash panda, a pirate-angel, and a super-soldier spend some time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eventually these encounters will become a narrative, but for now we settle with three dudes and a coffee table.

The next day, with no small amount of convincing on Thor's part, Rocket decided to go out and formally introduce himself to the Avengers gathered in the palace. To that end, the two had set up a table and some chairs in a balcony overlooking the city. After a brief breakfast—nobody was really hungry—Rocket had managed to get at least one of the Avengers to agree join this 'meet and greet'. Thor sat next to him, Stormbreaker in one hand, a drink in the other. "You. I remember you from last night. Pirate-angel here said your name was Rogers, is that right? I'm Rocket."

The captain sitting across from him at the coffee table nodded and extended his hand to shake. "You can just call me Steve. Good to meet you, Rocket. I wish it were under happier circumstances."

Rocket stared at the offered hand for a moment, clearly unsure what to do. Hesitating, he reached into a pouch and pulled out a small orb, placing it into the man's outstretched hand and closing his fist around it. The human seemed bemused, and looked at the device that the space-raccoon had given him.

"What's this?"

"A bomb."

"Wha— _a bomb?"_

Rocket shrugged as Steve stared in horror at the innocuous sphere in his hand, trying to stammer out a response. "Yeah. According to one of Quill's shows it's a Terran custom to give people gifts when you first meet them. I already gave a few to the Regent kid. She stopped by this mornin' to say hello."

The revelation that the space-raccoon had given Shuri  _more than one_  of these alien bombs blew his mind. This, right after she had hastily been named Regent of Wakanda in the wake of her brother's death? At this point, it almost made sense for her to take it in stride. Steve found it difficult to do the same, to his misfortune.

"You—according t-to… _What?_ "

Thor chose that moment to intervene on behalf of the captain and offer further clarification. "Allow me to help explain things for the captain here, Rabbit. Peter Quill, like yourself, is from Midgard, which to all outside the Nine Realms is called Terra—"

"—Technically, Pete's only half-Terran." Rocket interjected, pulling out a small communication device and a screwdriver and starting to work on it.

"Ah, you're correct. His mother is of Earth. His father is…what was it that he called his father? Ah, yes. He's half-Midgardian, half-Jackass."

Steve gave them both a blank stare, weariness creeping into his brows as though almost 70 years on ice had finally caught up to the soldier's body. "Half… _jackass._ "

"Right. On our way to Niðavellir Rabbit and I were speaking of his team, the Morons—"

Rocket twisted the screwdriver viciously, exposing the inner workings of the communicator and inspecting a wire. He let out a faint hum as he chose to take the lead from his Asgardian comrade.

"—Guardians of the Galaxy, he means. Anyway I was telling him about this time the year after we offed Quill's old man—"

If possible, the weary look on the captain's face intensified at the casual mention of patricide. It was going to be long day, he could already tell.

Steve couldn't help his mind from wandering as Rocket proudly shared stories of his time in space with his team-not that the Guardian's stories were boring. Rather, they reminded him just how damn  _quiet_ things had seemed during the return to the palace. Of how James— _Bucky_ —had never really been much for such casual conversation now that they were both older, even after the reversal of his Winter Soldier programming. Carrying a conversation with him had such a different tone than it did with Sam— _God, he's gone too_ —who was always more than happy to share a drink and a laugh even in the worst of times. Rogers closed his eyes, swallowing deeply in an effort to push the sorrow aside that rose in his chest. He didn't even realise he had zoned out until he felt something cold and metallic poking at his cheek. He opened his eyes to Rocket waving the screwdriver in front of them, mouth twisted into something resembling concern.

"Hey. Rogers! You alright, humie?"

"What…? Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Just—just thinking."

The raccoon's face relaxed and he put the screwdriver down, looking back to the communicator. It had already been closed back up; when Rogers looked around, Thor was gone, and the sun high in the sky. "Er...what time is it?"

"I dunno. At least past lunchtime, if I'd have to guess. You've been listenin' to me talk for hours, and I know I'm not  _that_  interesting or at this point you'd have asked me on a date. What's on your mind?"

Steve tried not to raise his eyebrow incredulously at the idea of dating a talking raccoon from space and failed just enough to earn a scowl from said raccoon. He tried to figure out how to phrase the fact that he had just lost his two best friends, his Sam Wilson, his  _Bucky_ , but just swallowed again. Rocket seemed to "get it", however, based on the way he sighed and hopped out of his chair, walking to the other side of the coffee table and awkwardly patting his leg.

"You don't have to talk about it, Rogers… For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I-I know what it's like to lose—"

_Family_ , the word was left unspoken. Steve took Rocket's hand in his own and squeezed, taking in a shaky breath before releasing and standing up from the chair, looking out from the balcony over the Wakandan cityscape. The boom of thunder and the brilliant rainbow light descending from the sky in the distance indicated Thor had returned.

"Hey, the god-man is back."

"When did he leave, Rocket?"

"About an hour ago. I asked him to use that King's weapon o' his to go back to Niðavellir and bring what's left of the  _Benatar's_  scouting pod back. Left some of my tools there in our hurry to get to Terra. Shouldn't have taken this long, though. The giant dwarf there may have needed his help for somethin' at the forge."

"And how do you plan to get all that to the palace?"

Steve pointed at the barely visible pile of wreckage that must have been the scouting pod.

Rocket flashed his teeth at Steve in what may have been a grin.

"Who said anything about bringing it back to the palace? Ain't you humies ever heard of 'field work' before?"

He picked up the communicator and gently clipped it to his belt, before grabbing the legs of the coffee table and starting to drag it out of the balcony, towards the palace doors. Rogers strode over and easily lifted the table, Rocket humming in appreciation before running off. He was clearly eager to get to work. The captain shook his head and smiled slightly as he jogged after him, inclining his head towards a bemused-looking Bruce, returning from the bazaar just in time to see them leave.

It would be a long day.

That was okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, comments and feedback are greatly, greatly appreciated!


	3. The Scientist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it takes a loser to understand a loss...or something like that.
> 
> (Or, the author is terrible at summaries so here's a raccoon and a scientist bonding on top of a pile of scrap metal.)

The sun was hot over the Wakandan fields, prompting Rocket to unzip the top of his jumpsuit and tie the sleeves around his waist before tearing another panel out of the ruined pod's hull. It was tossed to the ground onto the growing pile of salvage for use later. He had managed to rig up a speaker system already, and simple metal box lay next to it, dozens of thumb drives—primitive, yes, but small enough to transport easily—stacked inside. Each one was labeled in neat handwriting (Gamora's, not his own); all of them containing a different playlist from Quill's collection of music. Rocket hummed along to the tunes as he worked, grateful for the solitude which this place granted him.

There was another box which was mostly unscathed from the rough landing at Niðavellir on the ground, separate from the salvage pile which was now taller than its maker. It was less of a box and more of a case, and this one had a different script on the translucent glass—messy, overly large and in poorly formed English—Rocket's own labelling. It was on this box that Doctor Bruce Banner would trip, carrying a bag of food and a bottle of water.

Rocket could smell him coming before he got there, of course, and ducked inside the pod to hastily pull his jumpsuit on fully before hearing the surprised yell and a crashing sound. He poked his head out of the pod as he slipped his arms through the suit, letting out a curse in Xandarian at what he saw.

The pile of salvage, which he had just begun to organise into individual components, was now scattered around, the bewildered looking Terran struggling to get up without stepping on any of it. The raccoon winced and suppressed a growl as the doctor failed completely, delicate wires and machinery bending, snapping, crunching as he stood, a sheepish look on his face.

"You know, you could'a just left it on the case, instead of literally crashing my party."

"Wh-what can I say, I like to make a big entrance." Banner tossed him the bag, which he deftly caught and sniffed at cautiously. "Don't worry, it's not poisonous. Wait, are you allergic to nuts?'

The raccoonoid's ear twitched imperceptibly as he tore the bag open and began to practically shovel the contents into his mouth. "…Only when you try to put bolts in there too."

"Was that a joke?"

"Maybe."

Bruce let out a quiet laugh as he made his way towards the alien, who had already finished with the bag and was zipping up his jumpsuit. Rocket hissed and cursed as the zipper snagged one of his collarbone stabilisers. "Must've gotten misaligned during the fight…"

The doctor looked at him curiously, handing him the bottle of water which the raccoonoid drank from greedily. "What was that?"

"…N-nothin', humie. Don't worry about it."

"I'm Bruce Banner, by the way. I'm a doctor of—"

Banner noticed how Rocket seemed to tense up at the word  _doctor_ , and stopped himself. " _Only_  because I have several PhD's. On Earth it's a title given once you've studied enough in a certain field, not just to—to medical ones."

"Yeah. It's not that uncommon an occupation in the rest of the galaxy either. You're not… _just_  a doctor, though, are you?"

The human tensed up as well, and Rocket smirked a little before continuing.

"Don't worry, humie. You ain't the first Gamma mutant I've run into over the years. I ain't gonna rat you out to no-one."

Banner took a deep breath, pushing down the unbidden thoughts of Secretary Ross coming for him again. Not that he would be able to now-both he and Betty hadn't been seen since "the Snap", as the media were starting to refer to what happened. Still, there may be others out there…including Blonsky…

"H-how did you know?"

Bruce stared as the raccoon reared his head back and laughed, so obviously fake and yet so interesting to watch, the way his claws deftly gripped the edge of the pod's exposed floors as his back arched in a way that most  _definitely_  was not raccoon-like at all.

"Come on, Banner. I could smell it before I even laid eyes on you. You were in the red and gold mechsuit, right? Why'd you even need it?"

The scientist looked away, standing and making his way towards the case that he had tripped over earlier. "…Me and the…the 'Other Guy' aren't exactly on good terms right now." He leaned over the case and looked at the handwritten label, taking a moment to decipher the script.

 _"EVA SUITS_  
USE AT EMERGENCYS ONLY  
DO NOT MISPLACE"

The lid of the case was partially open, a few flat disks spilled out onto the ground. "Hey, Rocket? What are these for?"

For a few seconds, there was no response, no sound at all except for the gentle strumming of a guitar over the speaker. Banner looked over and saw the look of grief on the raccoonoid's face, how his ears drooped as "Father and Son" began to play and the doctor knew that this was probably not a good topic to press.

"Uh…they—those're for when we're out…out in a vacuum, or other low-pressure environments."

Rocket shuffled over to the speakers and muted the song, moving over to the case and putting the discs back in. If his snout looked a little wet, thankfully the human either didn't notice or was smart enough not to say anything about it. "We all used to keep a few on us, b-but I made more after…after there weren't enough for—for everyone. Put cases of 'em around the ship. One in the medbay. Under every bunk. Under each seat in the cockpit. A-at the airlock, and in the pod.  _Just in case...y_ ou know?"

His breath came in ragged gasps; he was trying not to break down in front of the scientist and—

"Thor, he…we found him in the wreck of a Sakaaran ship. He was still alive—he didn't need a suit…p-probably 'cause he's a 'god', or whatever. He told us what happened to his people, and…then I went with him to Niðavellir and we forged that axe o' his with some dwarf king. The others, they went to Knowhere to try to stop Thanos from gettin' the Reality Stone, but since he showed up  _here_ , I—they…"

Rocket drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his tail around them, his next words laced with anguish.

"I don't even kn-know if they're still—if they're still  _alive."_

Banner had eased himself to the ground, furrowing his brows and looking at Rocket. The raccoonoid was crying, head buried into his arms as his shoulders shook with grief. After a brief moment of hesitation, the scientist raised a hand and placed it gently on Rocket's head, stroking the fur between his ears.

He knew from experience how alone the alien must have felt, as that sentence caused the reality of his situation to crash hard. The scientist found himself contemplating what Thor had told him what he knew of his time at Sakaar.

Once, the Hulk wanted nothing more but to flee the Earth, and kept Banner out for over two years. He was happier by himself, with nothing but the crowds and the thrill of battle—and none of the judgment, the hatred that he believed his homeworld had given him.

Now, Bruce felt as though he understood why the Hulk hadn't come out since he was sent to New York by Heimdall. Almost as if the Other Guy knew that he would never again see the only person to not fear him for what he was. He had lost Betty.

Rocket may have lost his entire team.

They both felt more alone than they ever had, and they mourned together as the sun set on the plains of Wakanda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so after this we have a brief interlude before getting to the next half of the original Avengers team.


	4. Ashes, Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashes, ashes...well, you know the song, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter runs a bit differently, but I promise the overall work will remain focused on Rocket. I'll endeavour to stay consistent after this.
> 
> Also, now it's caught up with the version on FanFiction, so from this point on, I'll try to update once a week to give myself a rest and enough time to plan later chapters.

"We're four clicks away from the jump point, human—"

"—and that'll get us to Earth?"

Nebula turned and gave the Terran a studious look. He was pale and haggard, leaning against the back of one of the chairs in the  _Benatar's_  cockpit. The man had been with her for some time now—how many cycles had it taken to get near the Terran System? As it was, the cyborg was unsure of whether this was the last jump point—although the fox seemed to have added Terra to the ship's navigational computer, the Guardians had never actually gone there before.

As for the human—Stark—Nebula supposed she should have been more careful in getting him onto the  _Benatar_  to begin with. Thanos had injured him, and she had just pulled him to his feet and half-dragged him onto the Guardians' ship. The ship's medbay was thankfully still intact, but she had little knowledge of how to use it and even less knowledge of Terran physiology. They both agreed that she was more likely to accidentally kill him instead of help him mend, so Stark had settled for resting most of the trip.

The Luphomoid eyed the jump point as they neared it. "Maybe it will, Stark. Maybe it won't. Now sit down and strap in."

Tony raised a brow, a glint forming in his tired eyes. Even at the end of the world—hell, end of the  _universe—_ he still managed to poke fun at his unwilling companion's expense. "Aw, are you worried about me, Blue Man Group? Blue Woman Group—you are a woman, right? With all the metal it's—it's hard to be sure."

Nebula's eyes narrowed as he coughed several times, holding his hand to his chest. "Is this how all of you Terrans cope with pain? Making jokes?"

"I—yes. That's exactly how I cope."

The cyborg felt the corner of her lip twitch, but she said nothing in response. She eased the  _Benatar_  into the jump-point, bracing herself against the seat. In a few seconds, it was over, and a rocky blue planet filled the ship's main viewport. Nebula felt Stark drag himself up and place his hands on the glass.

"Th-that's Earth. Did the Guardians keep any comms on this ship?"

Nebula looked down at the control panel and tapped a few buttons, leaning in to get a better look at the readout.

"…Long-range relays are damaged. Only one of the short-range comms is up, which means we'll have to be in the planet's atmosphere to get a signal."

Tony's lips turned downwards into a thin frown, as he saw one of the other panels flashing red. It didn't take a genius to understand what it meant, a lightning bolt inside of a blinking box.

"Yeah…somehow I think that getting to the atmosphere won't be the problem. Rather, uh…it'll be 'landing' the ship that'll be difficult."

* * *

Rocket found himself pacing back and forth in Shuri's lab, where he and the Avengers planetside—including some archer who had just arrived in a "quinjet"—had gathered. One of the long range scanners had detected an unknown spacecraft entering the atmosphere above Wakanda, and the techies in the lab were trying to pinpoint where it was heading, while Shuri attempted to make contact.

" _Unidentified craft, you are entering Wakandan airspace. State your purpose and hold your position."_

This was the third time she had tried to contact the ship with no response. She sighed and shook her head, walking over to the other technicians and calmly pointing at a holographic map they were working with. They allowed her to take charge instead, and within a few moments she had figured out the craft's angle of descent. Shuri tensed up, watching as the estimated path sent the ship landing just outside the city.

Rocket wasn't too concerned with that, however. It was probably just a junker ship which drifted through the Terran jump point. Such events weren't unheard of—Nova usually kept a tight watch on certain jump routes, including this one, and sometimes derelicts would slip through.

Besides, if it were the Guardians' ship, they'd have tried to contact him by now, right?

_It can't be them. Quill would never come back to Terra…too much bad blood._

_Ha. Bad blood._

Lost in his thoughts, Rocket stopped pacing when he noticed that the archer was staring at him, and probably had been for a few minutes. The raccoonoid bared his fangs—not really meant in an aggressive manner, more in a 'letting them know I'm annoyed manner'.

"…Hey, humie. What's up? Somethin' on my face?"

The Terran shook his head, a flicker of amusement crossing his eyes. "Tell me that's not a bomb blinking on your belt?"

Rocket gave the human a withering glare as he lowered a hand to his belt. "…It could be."

_One, two, three, four…nope, all the bombs are unarmed—_

He jumped at the sudden beeping which was most definitely from his belt. The raccoonoid fumbled inside one of the pouches, pulling out a device which those gathered recognised as his communicator. A collective silence fell over the room as Rocket— _hands aren't shaking, it's just cold in here—_ brought it up to look at it. He read the message aloud, voice trembling slightly as he did so.

_"S.O.S._   
_Medical needed_   
_Hard landing."_

Shuri was the first to act, yelling at some of the nearby technicians to prep the lab for receiving wounded and calling for some Dora Milaje to join the Avengers outside of the palace to get to the ship's landing site. The dark skinned man in the silver and grey mechsuit—what kind of name was "Roads", anyway?—was the next, helmet locking into place as he ran out of the lab, the rest of the Avengers following suit soon after.

Rocket just stood there, however, reading the message to himself over and over again. Medical needed? Hard landing? What had happened at Knowhere? How badly had they been beaten? Medical needed, hard landing.

_Hard landing._

They  _needed_  him.

His team—his  _family_  needed him and he just standing there, afraid of seeing them hurt, afraid of losing them—.

No, he had to be there. Rocket wasn't about to—couldn't lose them, not after what happened to Groot. Thor apparently agreed, and the raccoonoid made no protest as the Asgardian scooped him up and ran out of the lab.

Rocket saw the  _Benatar_  as it fell, crashed into the Wakandan fields which had been so  _peaceful—_

He felt the impact even as Thor lifted the two of them into the air, flying towards the fire—the smoke—Rocket's  _home_.

Somehow the pit of fear in his stomach deepened as he and the Avengers tore through the wreckage, searching for anyone, the raccoonoid's voice cracking as he yelled for Gamora—

"—Drax! B-bug lady—Mantis?!"

The God of Thunder's voice carrying somewhat louder as he used the head of his axe to smash through the glass of the cockpit, retrieving a body unknown to Rocket. "Morons, how fare you— _Stark!?_  Avengers, to me!"

Rocket shooting a piece of wreckage blocking his path to the  _Benatar's_  ruined kitchen, diving into the medbay, ignoring the fire and ash which choked his lungs and burned his eyes.

"Quill… _Pete_ , damnit!  _Wh-where are you guys?_ "

Arms picking him up again—he fought hard, and struggled—even as the ship fell to pieces around him.

A blue skinned cyborg limping painfully towards the raccoonoid, something clutched in her organic hand as she shrugged off Doctor Banner's attempt to help her.

She knelt in front of him, placing the object into his paw and closing his hands around it.

Nebula was saying something to him now, words that Rocket didn't,  _wouldn't_  hear as he looked down—saw what the object was—and then the edges of his vision blurring, and he couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't do anything as he collapsed. He was vaguely aware of the animalistic howl which escaped from his maw, heard voices around him, muffled and unintelligible. The raccoonoid suddenly felt very light, as though he was drifting on water—

Tony Stark didn't protest as they put him on a stretcher. He caught Thor's eye as he placed a hand his shoulder gently before turning towards the burning wreckage of the ship and walking, coming back with a bundle of fur and cloth—a  _raccoon?_ —in his arms. The man once called Merchant of Death found himself staring at the raccoon from space, and then at the small device which he had seen onboard the Guardians' ship a few times on the trip back to Earth but never looked at properly, until now—when it was clutched tightly by the creature shaking with grief against Thor's chest.

An old Zune, carefully maintained, earbuds still plugged in.

Tony felt a pain in his chest deepen as the world around him faded. Try as he might, however, sleep didn't come.

He wasn't sure if it ever would again.


	5. Contents Under Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's only a matter of time before someone explodes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, my wrist has been acting up again.
> 
> Finally finished this chapter at 11 PM. As a side note, the next few chapters will hopefully see a lesser amount of "angst". If there are any glaring issues, please let me know.

Five days after the  _Benatar_  crashed, Rocket finally came out of his room.

He seemed alright, or at least, his usual self—making bombs in Shuri's lab while Okoye looked on with stoic disapproval, joking with Thor and Bruce at dinner, joining Steve and Rhodes on their runs to the bazaar, sparring with Natasha and shooting with Clint as if nothing had happened. As if nothing had changed.

He was not alright. The other Avengers were smart enough, or respectful enough, or  _whatever_ , to let the raccoonoid grieve in his own way—if they ever heard the crying behind closed doors, they didn't say anything. They kept their silence even as they saw how vacant his expression would get as he stared at the Zune, idly flicking through the songs but never wearing the earbuds.

All of the songs that the Guardians had listened to, and several which they hadn't gotten around to playing yet. All of the songs that Rocket could never again share with his family.

"It's not mine, guys. It's Pete's," he would say. "I'm just holdin' onto it until he gets back."

He knew that Quill would not be getting back.

* * *

It was another two months after the crash before Stark was deemed recovered enough to leave the infirmary. As Shuri had put it, "Our technology can do much towards healing the body. Healing the mind is something that he will have to do on his own."

Healing the mind. Yeah, right. More like drowning it in the nearest bar.

Well, apparently the space-raccoon had the same idea and beat him to it. When Stark arrived, the bar was empty save for the lone figure sitting at the counter, legs dangling from the stool and tail swishing idly. He watched the raccoonoid grab another bottle from the countertop and crack it open, downing almost half of it in one go. It should have been funny.

It wasn't. But Tony Stark was never one to not speak his mind.

"How many of those have you had today, Rascal?"

Stark saw the raccoon's ear twitch and swivel in his direction as he took another swig from the bottle in his hands. There were four or five more bottles, all empty, strewn across the bar. The ones scattered behind the counter were probably his, too.

"…Not enough, since I can still feel my legs. Even the  _alcohol_  on this planet is primitive..."

A quick look behind the counter told Tony exactly why Rocket had chosen this bar, and he wasn't sure what made him more sick in the stomach—the ashy dust forming a film on the wooden floor, or the idea that the raccoonoid was so desperate to get drunk that he had chosen a place where he wouldn't have to worry about paying, and could help himself to the entire amount.

Hell, he probably had come here because he  _couldn't_  pay, Tony realised with a start. From what little he knew about aliens, they probably didn't carry around cash in their wallets. "Hey. How about we get out of this dump? Hit up somewhere nice, or—well—somewhere with real alcohol."

Rocket drained the rest of the bottle and set it down none too gently on the counter.

"…It  _is_  real, by your weak-ass Terran standards. See? Says 'fifty percent alcohol'. I've had like…ten of these and don't even feel a tingle in my tail."

Stark grabbed a bottle and gave the label a read. He couldn't help but let out an amused snort, which promptly transitioned to laughter.

"What-what're you laughin' at me for?"

"You've basically been drinking fruit juice. This says  _five_ percent alcohol, pal. Can't you read?"

A pause. Tony felt the smirk leave his face as Rocket just stared between him and the bottle, grabbing it in his little hands and scrutinising the label closely.

"…You—you  _can_  read, can't you?"

The raccoonoid remained seated for a few minutes, pointedly ignoring Stark and growing visibly frustrated with the bottle. He finally snarled and threw the bottle at Tony's feet, not even waiting for it to shatter against the ground before he jumped off the stool and started to head for the door.

"Hey, wait up, I didn't mean anything by it—"

"—I  _can_  read, Stark. I can read Skrull, Xandarian, Kree, Halfworlder and enough Shi'ar to get by. But Terran? I ain't never had a reason to learn how to read it…"

Rocket stopped at the door, shoulders drooping and ears flattening against his head as Tony approached him.

"…Not—not until now, I guess. Quill only had, what, three or four years of education here when he was taken? Not exactly the best teacher. We picked up a bit over the past few years, but…it ain't enough to matter now that I'm here."

"You seem to be able to speak English well enough—"

"—I have a universal translator implant in my brain that's wired to my vocal processing unit. I'm actually speakin' a form of Xandarian. My implants automatically detect the language you're using when you talk to me and adjust the output to match."

"That—that's actually really cool. So what do you sound like normally? I mean, without the filter?"

The raccoonoid gave the genius a look and crossed his arms. "Nuh-uh. You ain't gonna get me to turn off my VPU."

"Aw, come on—"

"—Ugh, stop talking. How about this…"

Tony waited as Rocket cleared his throat and coughed several times, scrunching up his face a bit. When he spoke next, Stark could still understand what he was saying, but…

"… _Prithee, mayhap I show thee what mine other tongues doth sound like?"_

"Holy. Shit. You sound like something straight out of Shakespeare. What language is that?"

" _I doth protest, I hail not from this land of 'Shakespeare'… 'tis how the Skrull commoners talk!"_

The man stifled a laugh and started to walk out the door of the bar. "Well, keep it up, will you? We gotta show the others."

Rocket tilted his head, ear twitching in confusion as he followed Stark out the bar.

* * *

"Ha. You sound like Clint." Natasha smirked as the archer in question started to protest, only for Thor to clap him on the back heavily.

"The lady Romanoff speaks true, Barton. That particular tongue does sound…uncultured. No offence."

Clint looked to Bruce next, who just looked at him sympathetically and took another sip from his glass of water.

Rocket snickered and cleared his throat before switching back to Xandarian. "Right, so that was Kree… Now for what little Shi'ar I know—"

"Hey, you skipped one. What about…what was it called, Halfworlder?"

The raccoonoid froze, staring at Stark for about ten seconds before shaking his head and mumbling in reply.

"I'm sorry, what? I didn't quite catch that—"

"I said— _don't. Ask. Me. To. Speak. Halfworlder._ "

Tony frowned, but the witty remark on his tongue was cut short as the Guardian had already begun speaking again. It was almost impossible to understand _what_  he was saying, as the output from his VPU had a peculiar accent. Steve was visibly uncomfortable with whatever he said.

"Let's…not do that one again, alright Rocket?"

"I mean—that's the only Shi'ar I know, so—yeah. No problem. Why though? How'd the translation filter sound to you?"

"…It...You sounded like Red Skull."

Rocket's ear twitched and he leaned over the table a bit more, about to ask the super-soldier who this "Red Skull" was, but—

"—are you saying that you remember his voice, like, seventy years later, Rogers? That's some pretty good recall."

Steve glared at Tony across the coffee table and nodded stiffly. "You don't easily forget someone like him, Stark. Just be grateful you won't have to meet him in person."

"I'd say the guy I met on Titan is close enough—but, you wouldn't know about that, would you?"

The captain's eyes narrowed as he stood and faced the other man. "You've only mentioned it about a  _dozen_  times. All you had to do was use that phone—"

"—I'm sorry, aliens were invading New York— _again!_ What should I have done, Cap? You've been off the grid. Was I supposed to wait for you to pick up and then another few hours for you to travel across the planet from God-knows-where? I was the  _only one_  who was prepared, and it still wasn't enough!"

Rocket hopped down from his seat and tried to get their attention, not seeming nearly as uncomfortable as the other Avengers had become. "Hey, uh. Rogers? Stark—"

"I'd recommend you  _stay out of this_  if you know what's good for you, Rocket. This has been over two years coming—"

The super-soldier squared off against the genius as he crossed around the coffee table to be face-to-face with him. "—Thanos has apparently been coming since before we even  _formed_  the Avengers, and you're going to tell me that you were  _prepared,_  Stark? Really? _"_

"Yes, I was prepared! We fought Thanos on Titan, Rogers, and we almost  _had the Gauntlet!"_

The ruckus quieted almost as quickly as it began. Steve shook his head and took a step back, clearly surprised. "You—you  _what?"_

Tony's face was tight as he sat back down, breathing heavily. "…Yeah. We almost had the Gauntlet off. Your teammate, Rocket—Mantis, I think? She was doing some kind of…sleep thing on Thanos. There was this whole plan, and we would have gotten the damn thing i-if not for—"

He clenched his hands into fists a few times, before letting out a joyless laugh and gesturing at Rocket. It was clear there was no stopping Tony now.

"—if it weren't for our new friend here, Sly Cooper's band of  _idiots!_ "

The raccoonoid drew his lips back and snarled, eyes narrowing to slits. "You take that back—!"

"—that's right, everyone! Half of the universe is gone because of the damned  _Space Avengers._  It was  _this close_ , Rocket—and then your pal Star-Douche starts throwing down on Thanos while I was helping the kid pull the Gauntlet off…and just like that, it's over. He wakes up, starts wiping the floor and  _I'm_  the last one standing!"

His voice cracked after "the kid", and although in retrospect he should have just stopped there, Tony Stark was never one to not speak his mind—even when that mind was being irrational at best.

Or spiteful, at worst.

"You know, what, Rocket? You should be  _grateful_  that Thanos killed Quill. I wouldn't have even left a pile of  _ash."_

Silence.

It seemed as though everyone had turned to stone. Only their eyes were moving, six pairs of eyes watching as the space-raccoon climbed down from his seat and started to walk. Only when they heard the door to the palace shut did any of the Avengers move. Soon enough, Stark was alone.

_So much for healing the mind._

* * *

He held his head up high as he clambered down the palace steps and navigated the streets of the Wakandan capital. He was alright—only getting fresh air, he told himself. It wasn't until he reached the wreckage of the  _Benatar_ , still lying just outside the capital two months later, that he allowed himself to react.

Out here, nobody would be able to see how vacant his expression would get as he stared at the Zune, idly flicking through the songs but never wearing the earbuds. Out here, nobody would be able to hear him cry behind closed doors.

He was not alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feedback is desired and greatly appreciated!


	6. In Memoriam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some have yet to find closure.

**6\. In Memoriam**

A red leather coat, scorched, covered in dirt.

(It had been freshly washed by the owner the day before they parted ways.)

A broken blade, shattered at the hand of a tyrant.

(She liked to keep it sharp, and maintained it with a care that rivaled his own with guns.)

A holosnap of a woman and child, standing atop a mountain.

(The sole reminder he kept of his wife and daughter, aside from their names engraved on his knives.)

A handheld game device, screen flickering as its power dwindled.

(He had left it behind when they accompanied Thor to Wakanda. The Asgardian had found it at the forge on one of his trips.)

A small wooden box, intricate carvings adorning the lid—made with a firm delicateness that was suited to its owner.

(What few personal belongings their newest family member kept, she stored within. He didn't open it.)

These things he gathered together and placed within the only fully intact room left of the  _Benatar_ —the medbay—as a reminder of sorts. Then he got to work, stripping his jumpsuit down to the waist and tying the sleeves together. The raccoonoid sifted through the wreckage of his home, only stopping when he heard a faint  _whir_  of cybernetics moving outside.

"…Kinda busy here, Nebula."

"No, you're not."

_Whir-chunk. Whir-chunk. Whiiir—_

The Luphomoid eased herself down into a cross-legged position on the floor next to him. Rocket could feel her eyes on him as he did his best to continue inspecting the twisted hunk of metal he held. He was almost certain it had once been a wrench.

"You want to talk."

Nebula hadn't asked him a question. It was more like an observation, and he hated her for making it.

_I want you to leave,_  or at least, that's what he thought he said. Rocket's mouth wasn't cooperating with his brain, apparently, when he responded with a meek "Okay," instead.

_Damnit._

He tossed the former wrench to the floor and dropped to the floor, curling his arms around his legs and tucking his knees under his chin. He could feel his tail sweeping ash and dirt aside behind him.

Gathering thoughts. Memories.

The cybernetic assassin said nothing as the raccoonoid took a few breaths, collecting himself. She instead eyed the impromptu memorial that he had made. Her own breath caught upon seeing the hilt of the broken Godslayer.

"Gamora earned that blade after our first mission together. I think…"

Nebula hadn't intended to vocalise her thoughts. She sighed and lowered her head.

"I think that was one of the only times I saw her smile after...after Thanos got us. There was a time when she—when  _we_  were both proud of what we did for him. Or maybe…we just wanted  _him_  to be proud. He had taken away our homes. Our normal lives. Our families. I guess we were trying to hold on to the things we'd lost…but it was never the same. How could it have been?"

Her dark eyes narrowed and her next words had an edge to them.

"Thanos was a monster. He's always been that way, but I suppose the rest of the universe knows it as well now. We were just means to an end to him—and…well, that end has been written."

Rocket rubbed his eyes and shook his head, not meeting her gaze.

"I…I dunno what to do, Nebula. I remember tellin' them that I didn't have that long of a lifespan when I 'signed up' for guarding the galaxy. I meant it as a joke, but…I wasn't made to last. Not once in the past few years did I ever think I might outlive 'em. I've spent almost four years figurin' out how to do this whole…being part of a family thing, and now—now they're just… _gone_."

His voice grew quiet, but Nebula could still hear the sorrow in his next words.

"…W-we can't even have a damn  _funeral_  for them—th-there's nothin' left..."

"It's not important what's left, Fox—Rocket. You can still honour them…and it seems you already have."

The assassin gestured to the assortment of the other Guardians' personal effects, and Rocket let out a faint snort. "Actually, that…that's all I could find from that part of the ship. The cabins were practically incinerated from the crash. Besides, I—I dunno the first thing about holdin' a service. I've only actually seen Yondu's, and I ain't sure they'd want a Ravager funeral. Quill maybe, but Drax and Mantis? Gamora? Groot, definitely not. Much as he loved the fireworks, he wouldn't want to be cremated."

Nebula pondered this for a moment, before standing and briskly walking towards the door.

"H-hey! Where're you goin'?"

"We're on Terra. We may as well ask the Terrans for advice."

"Advice for what? A funeral ain't gonna bring them  _back._  I don't even know that those people would give a damn, not-not after what—"

The assassin frowned and turned her head slightly towards the raccoonoid. "—what Stark said?"

Rocket nodded, ear twitching slightly at the man's name. "Yeah. It's just… H-he's right, you know? It  _is_  our fault. We—I got into an argument with Quill about where we should go. I wasted time. If we had  _all_  just gone to Knowhere to begin with, maybe I—maybe we could've stopped Thanos before he got the Reality Stone. Could've ended it there, but instead…"

He flinched and curled into himself as Nebula silently walked back and placed her hands on his quickly sagging shoulders. Holding him up. Grounding him. "We got careless. Ever since Ego, we've been doin' our best to make sure that the galaxy was safe. We were always training, watching,  _preparing_  for the next Ronan, or Ego…or for Thanos. I-I thought we had done everything  _right…_ and it st-still wasn't enough."

"You were the only one who  _did_ do everything right, Rocket. That's why you're still here."

"I-I didn't even fight Thanos. I—"

"—the Asgardian told me what you did. You made the call to keep fighting the Outriders. Think of all the Terrans who you chose to protect that day and are still alive now because of that choice. Stark said what he did because he has only just begun to mourn his loved ones. Perhaps…it's time to finish mourning yours and look at guarding the people you have now."

Once more she stood, and this time she offered her hand to him. "Gamora…she was your sister as well, Rocket. That's good enough for me. I understand if you don't want to see the Terrans just yet. Will you at least speak to Thor?"

Rocket was quiet for several moments, before he finally stood and took her hand. Together they walked out of the medbay and left the fields, heading into the city towards the palace.

* * *

"…There are certain rites we perform on Asgard to remember lost loved ones. When my mother, Frigga, gave her life to stand against Malekith, we placed her body on a longboat with her possessions. All of Asgard came to remember and celebrate her life. When my father urged her spirit to Valhalla, the archers lit the boat and we released her pyre to the sea in her honour."

The Asgardian paused, a sad smile forming on his face as he placed Stormbreaker on the ground outside of the  _Benatar's_  wreckage.

"When…when such a memorial is not possible, due to urgency or…lack of body, there is a prayer that all on Asgard are taught from birth in order to send the spirits of the dead to their peace. I would offer that rite for the Guardians, Rocket, should you allow it."

The raccoonoid's ear twitched, and he considered Thor's words. After a moment of silent thought, he nodded. Thor stood and walked into the medbay, picking up a piece of charred material and kneeling down in front of the little memorial Rocket had made. He waited patiently as Rocket, and then Nebula followed behind him. As the God of Thunder spoke, he used the ash-covered object to carefully lay runes into the floor.

"Guardians of the Galaxy, I bid you take your place in the halls of Valhalla… Where the brave shall live forever. Nor shall we mourn, but rejoice for those that have died the glorious death…"

When it was over, the three of them remained together, silently mourning the families they had lost.

Rocket stepped out of the medbay and looked up at the night sky, and at the stars winking back. He thought of the other Guardians. Thought of his team. Tonight, he would remember them. Tomorrow, he would start honouring their memories.

His family had not stopped fighting—and neither would he.

_I promise you guys. I'll do what I can to keep the galaxy safe. And if I can't get you back..._

"…Then I'll avenge you."


	7. Accidents Happen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Accidents happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so first of all I'd like to sorely apologise for not updating in a while. I started back at uni about a month ago and between getting ready for that and real life issues, I haven't had much chance to write creatively.
> 
> I had a few different ways in mind on how this chapter would go. I knew where I wanted to end it, but I wasn't sure how to start it. Fair warning, bit of violence at the end.

Rocket hummed to himself as he walked, Thor and Nebula trailing behind and discussing something in hushed tones. They moved through the cavernous space of the Vibranium mine which housed Shuri’s lab, with the raccoonoid stopping just outside the entrance and pressing an ear against the door.

“Hey Nebula! Thor! Hold up. Sounds like someone’s—“

“—even if we had a way to get off-world, that plan is just— _._ We _can’t,_ Tony! Especially not since we’re down _another_ Avenger since you ran Rocket off!”

“Oh, give me a break about that, Rogers! We wouldn’t even _need_ the raccoon—and I don’t see you coming up with any ideas on how to fix this!”

Thor frowned and brought a hand to his brow, shaking his head as he opened the doors to the lab and walked in. The Asgardian said nothing as Rocket scampered up his back to perch on his shoulder before clearing his throat.

“Ahem. Firstly, I ain’t an Avenger, though I appreciate the sentiment. Secondly, he didn’t run me off, Rogers. Just…needed some time alone. Third…the next humie that calls me a raccoon is gettin’ tased.”

“You’re all wrong, anyway. He’s a fox.” Nebula added, surveying the lab with a bored look. Thor turned to her and cocked a brow.

“No. He’s a rabbit, actually—“

“—Ugh. No he—we don’t even have time for... What do you want, Rocket? Can’t you see I’m working here?”

Stark narrowed his eyes as Rocket deftly leapt from Thor’s shoulder and onto the lab table, meeting the man’s gaze with lips drawn back in a snarl.

“What I want, _Avenger_ , is to help you humies live up to that title. You really think you’ll be able to avenge your fallen if you can’t even get off-world? I have a ship. It’s in pieces, yeah—that ain’t _your_ fault, Neb, don’t give me that look—but it’s a ship. We salvage what we can, rebuild what we can’t, and make room for all your little Avengin’ buddies. Then we can track Thanos down so y’all can go and do the whole ‘vengeance’ thing that Drax has… _had_ been caught up in for the past…well, for as long as I’ve known him.”

“What, you—you’re offering to help us now? You seemed pretty determined to clear house after—”

“—after you acted like a total douchebag, I know. I wasn’t ‘clearing house’, Stark. I was just getting some fresh air, and I’m done with that, so…yeah. I’m offerin’ to help you. Take it or leave it—either way, I can’t afford to stay on this planet for much longer, so you may as well take it.”

Steve gave the raccoonoid a questioning look as he sat down. “Why don’t you stay on Earth for a while longer, Rocket? We sure could use your help with things outside of Wakanda.”

“If it were—Listen, y’all Avengers may be _Earth’s_ mightiest heroes, and I get that you want to make sure your planet isn’t tearin’ itself apart after what happened—but me and my family weren’t called Guardians of the _Galaxy_ for nothing, you know? I don’t even know what’s happening outside the Terran system right now, much less back in my own galaxy. The longer we take gettin’ back, the more likely it is that the whole place has gone to sh’t…which, at the end of the day, will only make _both_ our jobs harder. Hell, if what Thor said about Nova Corps bein’ gone is true, we may already have a hard time getting out of this system. Nova were the ones who maintained the jump points. No tellin’ if whoever took over for ‘em is friendly or not. What I’m getting at is this: If you want to have a shot at undoing this whole mess, you want to do it _sooner_ , so that literally everyone else in the universe doesn’t get in your way trying to do the same damn thing.”

Tony put a hand on his chin, stroking it as if he was deep in thought before waggling a finger at the raccoonoid. “I still don’t see why we _need_ your help getting off-world. I designed our quinjets to accept modifications for spaceflight. I can have them rolled out and tested within a month.”

“Really? So you have the latest model of jump drive, plus two back-ups _and_ enough Chitauri plating to shield the interior from radiation leaks? You’re saying you have an intact onboard computer containing not just up-to-date nav charts for every galaxy in the Local Group, but the entirety of Nova’s access codes for every jump point and supply depot from here to Sakaar and back? _And_ you’ve got a pilot skilled enough to get you past any quantum asteroid fields, Kree Imperial or Sovereign blockades, to say nothing of all the Ravagers you might run into? You’ve got all of that, ready to go in less than a month?”

When the human said nothing in response, Rocket bared his teeth again.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought. Listen, Stark. I know you don’t like me. Hell, _I_ don’t like me, most days. But that don’t mean we can’t work together while it benefits the both of us, right? I’m offerin’ you all a way off this dirtball so you can find the asshole that you _really_ don’t like. All I’m askin’ in return is your help puttin’ it together. If you can’t see past the four-foot freak making the proposal to see the merit in it, well… You’re dumber than I took you for.”

With that, the alien hopped off the lab table and started to walk towards the doors, ears swivelling behind him. “How about this... I’ll come find you later. For now, sleep on it. If you do wanna help, God knows I don’t need you passing out in the middle of restarting the engine.”

* * *

 

_“Mr. Stark? I don’t feel so good… I don’t know—I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t wanna go, I don’t wanna go. Sir, please. Please. I don’t wanna go—“_

_It was as vivid as the first time it happened. He watched, helpless, as his protégé’s body crumbled to ash—which covered his hands—choked his lungs. Then—._

_“—don’t…so good—what’s happening?”_

_He felt light headed and dizzy. A strange calmness washed over him, a fuzzy sensation crawling across his face. Peter was grabbing him now, practically sobbing into his chest._

_“Sir, please—don’t go. Don’t go.“_

_He didn’t respond. He couldn’t, because his own body was dissolving, scattering across the ruined battlefield._

“—ey!”

_The fuzziness was there again. Only this time there was weight behind it, and on his chest—._

_He couldn’t breathe._

“Stark!”

_Something struck him hard across the face—a bare hand. There was a gauntlet on the other._

_It was on instinct that he brought his arms up. His nanites were failing, but he had enough to form a set of repulsors. The beams were blinding, and Thanos threw his hands in front of his face in a too-late attempt at blocking them. He roared and staggered backwards, and Tony took a much needed opportunity to catch his breath._

_From a distance, he thought he heard someone calling his name once more. He didn’t have time to listen, however—the Mad Titan was bearing down upon him once more. If he couldn’t stop him here, it would only be a matter of time before Thanos completed the Gauntlet._

_He had to act. There weren’t enough nanites left in his armour to maintain his helmet, and his chestplate was failing. He was barely able to keep the repulsors out, much less fire them again. He would have to settle for something a bit cruder. As the Titan drew near, Tony rose to meet him and struck out with a bladed fist. When he felt the blade meet its target, he drew back and lashed out again._

_Then again._

_And again._

_And—._

It wasn’t just the choked cries of pain that woke him up. It wasn’t just the feeling of arms wrapping around him, trying to hold him back from his continued attack on the Mad Titan. It was the colour of the blood on his blade—bright red, with a strange oily shine to it.

Not purple.

_Not_ _Thanos_.

Tony blinked and shook his head as the nightmare faded. He could hear more clearly now the voice calling his name—Rhodey, yelling at him to stop—stop what?

He looked down at his hand, which was drawn back to stab again—and then to the blood dripping onto his sheets, forming a trail to the foot of his bed. Finally, he brought his confused gaze up to meet a fearful pair of copper eyes, the fur around them streaked with tears. Tony watched in horror as Rocket took two wobbly steps and fell off of the bed, body smacking hard into the polished floor. The raccoonoid’s claws scrabbled uselessly at his front in an effort to staunch the bleeding, and he looked at Stark—tried to say something, but the only sound that came out was a wet gurgle. The meaning was clear, however.

_Help._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Cleanup on Aisle Seven!"
> 
> ...I'll just be going, now.


	8. Scrambled Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes pain is visible. Sometimes it's buried deep beneath the surface.
> 
> Sometimes, it's both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to apologise for the long wait. This isn't as long as I wanted it to be, but I'll explain why in the end notes.  
> Hope you enjoy, and again I apologise for the wait.

**8\. Scrambled Connections**

Warmth. Comfort. Motion. Safety.

_Cold. Hard. Restraints. Danger._

He was tired. So, so very tired. Maybe he should get some rest.

_It could no longer remember the last time it slept. Instinct is what kept it awake, instinct and fear._

Then someone shined a light in his face. Bright. Painful. He shut his eyes, told them to turn the d’ast thing off, let him _sleep_.

_When the lights went dim, it stiffened. It knew what was coming next. It squeezed its eyes closed, whimpering in distress._

He could make out vague shapes past the light. A face, brown and indistinct. Everything was like that. Fuzzy. Desaturated. He could hear voices nearby, but muffled, as though spoken through a cloth mask.

_Even in the darkness, it could see with horrible clarity the faces of the people who would hurt it. Their words, cold and sharp, cut through its heart with more precision than any of their scalpels._

“Rocket! Oh, Bast…stay awake!”

His own voice sounded distant to his ears. Weak. Mangled. “Mmmhf…do—don’t wanna…”

_“You look rather weary, 89P-13. Why don’t you get some rest?”_

_Unable to vocalise its unwillingness, it shook its head back and forth rapidly, eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape._

A hand entered his field of view, blue gloves reaching for his neck— _Back…off!_ —but the words weren’t coming, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see—he was drowning.

“…are you doing?”

“Need to suction…”

“—lp me get him…table.”

He felt a hand against his muzzle, something being pushed into his jaws—he struggled weakly against the intruder, trying to back away, but there was another hand against his head keeping him in place.

_It tried to scream, to bite, to do_ anything _, but they were holding its mouth tightly, adjusting the leather straps restraining it so that they cut into its wrists, drawing blood. A muzzle clamped over its jaws, freeing their hands from the risk of being bitten._

A scalpel, clean and carefully held, passed in and out of his vision briefly— _a bone saw, rusted and cracked, shook in the hands of the newest lab worker as she waved it in front of its face, as her colleagues directed her._

The woman leaning over him now was tall, with proud features and a shaven head. “My queen? He is still awake. Perhaps we should restrain him?”

“Absolutely not, Okoye. Double the dose of anesthesia. Doctor Banner! Do you know how to work a cellular regeneration machine? He’ll need blood.”

_“Triggering the fight-or-flight response before the operation makes the subject less likely to attempt retaliation until after the procedure is complete.”_

_It cried out from behind the muzzle as the saw pierced its skin, flaying apart the flesh and sinew and exposing its sternum._

_Oh God—no, no, no no no. Listen to me—oh, God. Stop. Please!_ Nothing came out but strangled hisses and growls, and he squeezed his eyes shut, unable to watch as the scalpel cut just beneath his rib cage. Once more, voices interrupted his attempts to ignore what was happening. They were angry. Combative. He cracked his eyes open, trying to track the source of the noise.

“Hey, let me see—I can _help him_ , damn you!”

“—almost _killed_ him earlier, you imbecile! Give me one reason not to cut you down where you stand!”

A _thunk_ and a crash—someone being struck and falling, perhaps. A flash of blues and purples, black eyes peering into his angrily. “Fox, if you die and leave me with these fools, I swear that I will drag you back from the realm of the dead and _kill you myself_.”

“—Nebula! I must ask you to please stand away from him—damn! Why is he still awake?! I do not think we can safely increase the anesthetic again, and if I do not start extracting the fragments now—“

_“Doctor? We are to proceed without anesthesia?”_

_“Yes. We can more accurately determine if the implants successfully integrate with the subject’s natural immune system.”_

“I am sorry, Rocket… Please, forgive me.”

The scalpel went down again, and the raccoonoid could see the humans’ faces, etched with concern and pity—.

_The scientists’ apathetic expressions bore into its mind, and they spoke of their lives outside this place—as though digging through and tinkering with 89P-13’s body was nothing more than a casual hobby—._

As the pain began to overwhelm his senses, Rocket finally found his voice and screamed a desperate plea; while many years ago, in a laboratory buried deep beneath the surface of Halfworld, a miserable creature let out the first meaningful words in its short existence.

* * *

The words kept replaying in Tony Stark’s head, over and over. He turned over the device he was working on and dug the tweezers into it, frowning as it sparked in protest at the disturbance.

_“P-please!”_

His mind drifted between a cave in Afghanistan and an operating table barely a ten minute walk away.

“ _—please! I—I…”_

The man hadn’t objected when Shuri directed Okoye to lead him out of the lab. Nor had he resisted when Nebula had lunged at his throat as he left, right before everything went to hell.

_“Wh-why c-c…”_

Even the combined strength of Rogers, Banner and Rhodes wasn’t enough to hold her back when Rocket’s heart stopped for the first time. The second time it happened, Shuri was forced to sedate her.

_“Why can’t you just let me die here?!”_

Tony scowled at the hunk of machinery in front of him, ripping out the offending wires and tossing them to the side of the table. He activated his kimoyo beads and scanned the circuit again, bringing up a holographic display of the schematics.

It had been simple enough to design a language cipher on the way back from Titan, with Nebula’s help matching the Kree alphabet to the sounds each symbol made, and then mapping those sounds to their English equivalent. Building the damn thing was another matter entirely. Nebula was loathe to help him now—any rapport he had with the Luphomoid was gone when she found out what happened to Rocket, and as for the raccoonoid in question…

_God...How long has he been in there, now?_

“Forty-five hours, Stark. Forty-five.”

The man whirled around, instinctively raising the tweezers in his hand like a weapon. He sputtered like a fool for several seconds, prompting Shuri to roll her eyes. She had changed from scrubs into what looked like night attire.

“I-I’m sorry?”

The young woman scoffed and stepped into the room, leaving the door open. “You should be. I have been awake for over forty-five hours. The first ten were relatively normal. Then I spent the next twenty making sure your Guardian comrade did not die on a table. After _that_ I had a meeting with the leaders of the other tribes which lasted fourteen hours regarding this incident.”

Stark got to his feet a little too quickly, pocketing the scraps he was working on for later. “H-how’s he doing?”

“He is alive, and very lucky to be that way. The blades broke against his ribs in two places. Another knife barely missed severing his neural implant from his spinal cord. While he is out of imminent danger, I am insisting he remain under observation for at least a week—”

Shuri stopped as her kimoyo beads flickered to life. She read the message briefly, before waving it away and turning to leave. She paused at the door just long enough to give the man an encouraging smile.

“You may ask Rocket yourself for any further details, Stark. He is awake, and he wants to see you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, originally this chapter was gonna end after Tony visited Rocket and the two had a nice, long chat to sort everything out. My computer decided to be trash, and shut off before I saved that part. I'm gonna have to rewrite that entire scene now. Thanks, Windows.
> 
> As always, I love your feedback and kudos! Comments motivate me and help me improve!


	9. Damage Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rocket does most of the talking because the author needed to go to sleep like...two hours ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, Sly, you're still alive?!
> 
> Yes. Yes, I am, and I am truly sorry it took me this long to update. I had two halves of chapter 9 that I kept looking at before posting and didn't work well together so I finally said "screw it" and re-wrote the chapter. I also got distracted by attempting to re-draw a piece that was going to accompany the very first chapter.
> 
> Also...university. Hooray? Part of me wants to start post-dating the most recent chapter with a new author's note at the end when I haven't posted a chapter in a while, just so people know "Hey, this fic is still going on! Just taking forever!".
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy! Sorry for the wait.

“—the blackouts, now entering their third month, have left millions without power in Europe—“

_Click._

“Missing persons reports continue to come in across the globe—“

_Click._

“—world governments are in a state of paralysis in the wake of the ‘Decimation’—“

_Click._

 “—where are the Avengers—“

_Knock, knock, knock._

“Uh, hey, Rocket? Shuri said you wanted to see me— _whoa!”_

_Click—thud._

The raccoonoid raised an eyebrow, shutting off the TV and glancing towards the foot of his bed, where Stark had planted one arm in an effort to steady himself.

“Y’know you’re supposed to— _ahem—_ walk through doors, right?”

The man frowned and dusted himself off, moving to sit in a nearby chair. He swept his eyes over Rocket and his frown deepened. “ _You’re_ supposed to be wearing clothes. Kind of early to break out the Halloween costumes, don’t you think?”

Stark quickly looked away as the raccoon snorted and tugged at the neck of the hospital gown he woke up in. Even the smallest size the Wakandans had on hand didn’t fit quite him right. Bandages were visible wrapped around his chest, and likely continued down his torso.

“I would be wearing clothes, but they had to cut my jumpsuit off to fix the worst of the damage. Nothing more snug than this gown for the next three days. Shuri’s _orders_. Otherwise my implants will lock up tighter than a Kree p—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get the picture, Rocket.”

“…prison. God, Stark, I do have _some_ standards.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Tony being the one to break it. “Look, Rocket I—it’s going to sound hilarious after…everything, but I-I’m sorry. I’ve been a real—“

“—dick?”

Stark paused, looking mildly insulted. “I was gonna say asshole, but then again…I usually am, so I guess that’s fair.”

“No. Fair would be _me_ shooting _you_ in the face with an ion pulse and then stabbing you a few times with my implants. Instead of fair, I’m choosin’ to be _nice_.”

The man flinched. He didn’t remember—well, honestly, he didn’t remember most of what happened.

That’s what he told himself, at least. “I—I shot you?”

“Yeah. I was d'ast lucky you were half asleep. You were kinda sluggish. Had enough time to bring my arm up. Guess I should have taken the hint and buzzed off, but it—you looked like you needed waking up. Figured a few good blows to the face would do it.”

“…and then I—“

“— _Yup_.” Rocket grimaced, gesturing towards his bandaged chest. “Doctor Banner was in here earlier. Said they were gonna use some nanites made of vibranium to speed things along, but I’ve got my own…‘improvements’ to my immune system. Had to patch me up the old fashioned way or they’d just set me up for catastrophic implant failure later in life.”

Stark lowered his head and stared at his hands. “How are you so calm? I could have—I nearly killed you, and you’re—you’re okay with that?”

The raccoonoid eyed the man and with some difficulty, sat up, leaning against the headboard. “I haven’t really gotten a chance to tell you about myself since you showed up, have I?”

Tony shook his head, and Rocket took that as a sign to continue.

“I mentioned Kree prisons earlier. I suppose as an analogy that worked fine, but—well, Kree prisons aren’t the hardest to break out of. There’s definitely no shortage of motivation to do it. ‘Specially when most’a the inmates probably served your distant ancestors as a delicacy back home, you know? Getting outta prison is fun, but even _more_ fun is not goin’ there at all. You Terrans have a lot of catching up to do with the rest of…well, the universe, but you should be thankful you haven’t ‘advanced’ to the point where you have entire planets that are prisons. Prison planets ain’t even the worst there are… I dunno if you’ve ever had to deal with…”

Rocket trailed off, waving a hand around the room with only barely disguised contempt.

“You wouldn’t know it by how much time I spend down here with Banner and the Regent, but I—I hate laboratories. Hate the way they smell…or, rather the way they _don’t_ smell. Even ones like this, they’re too… _sterile_. Too clean. Smells like there’s somethin’ they don’t want ya to see. Something like—like me.”

He barked out a laugh. It was a hoarse, guttural sound. Humourless.

“I spent the first three years of my life strapped to a table, Stark. My first sentence was me beggin’ the bastards who put me there to kill me. Even when they did, they—they always brought me back. Not because they cared about me living. Because I was—still am—worth a fortune to them in units. They flayed the skin from my bones, pulled my limbs off one by one, stuffed me so full of machinery that I’m more metal inside than flesh. I can take down a mark from over three kilometers away in total whiteout. Taken down…others, too. Things didn’t get better after I blew that lab—and all of ‘em with it—to hell, either. Spent the next two years in and out of prisons. I wasn’t legally a _person_ until I escaped Kree space, and _everyone_ —the citizens, the police, the prison wardens, the other _inmates_ —made damn sure that I knew that. They—they did shit to me that if I did to you I would get shot, and they got away with it. So I learned real quick how to get out of prison.

“I met Groot, and for a while things were looking better. Wasn’t to say that life was easy after that, hell, if anything it became harder because the cops knew we was a pair, and a big-ass tree is a lot easier to spot in a crowd than little ol’ me, but it was part of the challenge. Prison life became nicer too, ‘cause other people were too scared to mess with the freak knowing that the giant with him would tear them all several new ones. Later on, I met the Guardians—and lemme tell you, living with those a-holes for four years? You _need_ to be calm most of the time to do that.”

Rocket cleared his throat and glanced at Stark to make sure he was paying attention.

“My point is—yeah, Stark, you nearly killed me. You ain’t the first who’s tried, you _definitely_ ain’t gonna be the thing to really do me in, and you seem sufficiently shook up over the whole thing that I just can’t find it in my equivalent of a heart to be mad at ya for it. What’s a few more scars, right?”

His next laugh was genuine.

“Besides, if anything you did me a favour. I’ve been needing a reason to test a new jumpsuit material I came up with. With how easily you Terrans tore my old suit to shreds, I’d hate to know what literally any other species in the galaxy could have done with a knife. So…yeah, Stark. No hard feelings.”

Stark met his eyes and nodded.

“One more thing, Rocket… Call me Tony.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm considering starting a collection of one-shots to go alongside this work. Something like "war stories" that Rocket and the others swap that could fill in the gaps in this work. 
> 
> What do y'all think of that idea? Is there an interest in that?

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated! I am always looking for ways to improve.


End file.
